The Rabbi's Son
by Dr. Dredd
Summary: Events of the first and second seasons as seen through the eyes of Dr. Steven Schwartz, Carson Beckett's 2IC. Each chapter is a complete story.
1. Siege 3 and Intruder

**Title**: The Rabbi's Son

**Author**: Dr. Dredd

**Spoilers**: Siege III, Intruder

**Season**: 1-2

**Disclaimer**: Stargate Atlantis, characters, concept, etc, aren't mine.

**Summary**: Current events through the eyes of Steve Schwartz, Carson's 2IC. Written for the SGAHC challenge "Fathers"

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My father, may he rest in peace, always wanted his only son to become a doctor. But he never told me that it could lead to anything like what I've experienced over the past year. Twelve months ago I was a reasonably competent surgeon with a reasonably rewarding career at a reasonably prestigious hospital. Now I'm practically in charge of an entire medical department in a 10,000 year-old city in another galaxy. How unreasonable is that?

Another wise doctor once said, "Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!" He might have been describing the wonders of the lost city of Atlantis. But I doubt Dr. Seuss was thinking of the Wraith when he said, "And when you're alone, there's a very good chance; you'll meet things that will scare you right out of your pants." Those things would make even the Lorax cut down all the trees to make an impenetrable barrier.

If by a miracle I could talk to my father one more time, he probably wouldn't believe anything I told him. Rabbi Schwartz believed in the mysteries of God, but was surprisingly skeptical about other non-Earthly phenomena. For instance, he'd scoff if I told him that we found a species of human almost indistinguishable from us when we stepped through the gate. And if I mentioned that their leader was an incredibly beautiful woman who could kick the snot out of our ranking military officer, he'd really have a field day.

He might take me seriously about the Wraith, though. Ever since my mother died in a botched robbery attempt, he was well aware of evil in fleshly form. My mother was his whole life, and the punk who pulled the trigger sucked that life right out of him. Is an alien life-sucking vampire that much different?

Anyway, even without the Wraith, there are still plenty of unbelievable things to go around. I've been a surgeon for almost ten years, and I've seen my share of trauma. People getting hit by cars, people falling from great heights. But Peter Grodin's wrist films after punching "Mr. Invincible" looked for all the world like he'd punched through a plate-glass window. Fortunately for him we have Ancient healing machines to work with, or I would have been practicing my hand surgery skills. Do you see what I mean about unbelievable?

But if the aliens and technology are incredible, the members of the expedition are all too human. I work for a man who's a cross between Star Trek's Scotty and Dr. Frankenstein. Easygoing on the surface, but you do NOT want to piss Carson Beckett off. I thought I was going to get fired that one time when I had to assert my authority while treating him. Instead, I wound up getting promoted to his second-in-command, and some days I'm still not convinced I wasn't being punished! But I've also seen the way he reassures the hurt and scared, so he's not all bluster.

And take Mr. Invincible himself, Dr. Rodney McKay. When I first saw him in Antarctica I didn't think he'd last a week. I figured he'd either blow himself to hell with one of his gadgets or one of the other scientists would commit justifiable homicide. But that was before I saw him handle the nanovirus crisis and before he managed to save the city multiple times during the siege. He's still a jerk sometimes, but at least now I know he's a good guy underneath.

Then there's the military. I got my share of recruitment pitches during med school and residency, and it was definitely tempting to have them pay off my student loans, but I didn't want to sign my life away for military ideals. Here on Atlantis I've had the opportunity to meet men and women who truly believe those ideals. Major -- oops, _Colonel_ -- Sheppard is a prime example. Here's a guy who paid the price for not writing off fallen teammates just because someone higher up declared them expendable. Yet he seems to consider _himself_ expendable when it comes time to volunteer for suicide missions. I'm glad he received his promotion, even though I heard it was grudgingly granted.

It goes without saying that Sheppard cares deeply for all of those under his command. He was absolutely devastated when Lieutenant Ford vanished in that puddlejumper. Heck, I was, too. Ford was like everyone's kid brother, wide-eyed and enthusiastic. Some of the "names" he came up with were so outrageous that you knew he was trying to yank everyone's chain. I hope we can find him and fix what's happened, since I'm pretty sure he's suffering now.

I could continue like this for the next twelve months. My father, of course, would alternate between rolling his eyes and laughing his head off. He may never have told me that becoming a doctor would land me here, but I definitely wouldn't have missed any of it.


	2. Runner

_A/N: This initially started as a one-shot, but I've decided to make it into a weekly series. For each episode, we'll get a fresh perspective on the events from Dr. Schwartz. Please R&R, tell me if you like or if I'm wasting electrons. ;-)_

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My father was a much-loved rabbi and was often asked to visit the dying and comfort the grieving. He took this duty to heart, but I know it weighed heavily on his soul at times. The most difficult visits were with widows or widowers whose spouses died of Alzheimer's disease. How do you console a person who essentially lost a loved one long before that person's body died?

In a sense, that's the situation we have here with Lieutenant Ford. Only in his case, he's lost to us both physically and mentally. I don't know what happened on that planet, but I did see Carson when he returned. He looked like he went to one of those old Scottish castles and saw a ghost. Oh, he blustered and carried on like he normally does, but his eyes were haunted. And later that evening, over a cup of hoarded tea, he revealed what was really bothering him.

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I was cleaning up the medical supply room after Hurricane Beckett went through it. He hadn't known what to expect when he got the call to perform surgery in the middle of nowhere on an alien world, so he brought the proverbial kitchen sink with him. I was more than a little jealous. Since we got here, we haven't had all that much need for a surgeon. I would have loved the opportunity to stretch my legs, so to speak. Although the whole hostage thing might have been a little disconcerting.

At least the Daedalus had recently replenished our medical supplies and drug inventories. We didn't have to worry about running out anytime soon. So I wasn't too worried until I left the supply room and found the light still on in Carson's office. It was in the middle of the night shift, so nobody should have been around except a few nurses and the on-call doc. Why was the CMO still here? If he were staying up late to do research, he would normally be in one of the empty labs down the hall.

I hesitated, then knocked quietly on the door. When I entered, the office was in its usual state of disaster. But instead of being immersed in a text or research report, Carson was simply sitting at his desk and staring into a cup of tea. "Evening, lad. Done for the night?"

"Yeah, I'm done," I answered, folding my arms across my chest. "But what about you?" I know that our battles to get each other to take breaks are a source of amusement to the rest of the expedition. Peter Grodin, when he was still alive, had included them in his betting pools. I think Dr. Zelenka has taken over now.

Carson fixed his ice-blue eyes on mine for a minute. Sometimes that stare could make you feel like a bug on a microscope slide, particularly if you'd been sloppy or lazy. (Or if you happened to be Rodney McKay.) At other times it invited patients to relax and put their trust in him. He's an amazing clinician that way.

But tonight his eyes just looked tired and sad.

"What's wrong?" I asked him. He obviously needed to talk, so I wasn't going to let him get away with saying "nothing" or "everything's fine." I'm not above bullying the man.

Carson sighed and looked down into his tea again. Finally he said, "Have a seat if you can find one in that mess. And grab a cup of tea if you like." That's when I knew that something was seriously wrong. He normally kept that stuff locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I wasn't going to argue with the offer, though. I enjoy a good cup myself.

"John and Rodney saw Lieutenant Ford on the planet today."

That hit me right in the gut; I wasn't expecting it. The last time I'd seen Ford he was holding a gun on Carson, demanding the supply of the Wraith enzyme. He almost didn't seem human at that moment, yet there appeared to be a part of him that was struggling not to lose his identity. Unfortunately the Wraith drug appeared to be stronger. "How was he?"

"I didn't see him. I was too busy playing Androcles with our friend from the brute squad." We shared a quick smile over the designation. "However, Rodney said that he looked terrible. He was delusional, alternating between trying to "save" John and Teyla and thinking they were out to get him. He might have also been hallucinating; John said that Ford looked like he was hearing voices."

"Oh, boy. What else?"

"Apparently his thinking was very confused. He wanted to come back home, but at the same time was afraid of what we'd do to him. And worst of all... he actually tried to kill Rodney. Then he escaped by allowing himself to be beamed onto a Wraith dart."

I just shook my head. What the hell had gone wrong? Ford was a great guy. He had been fighting to defend the city and almost lost his life, only to be saved and lose his sanity in the process. "We have to get him back," I whispered.

"Aye, that we do. If nothing else but to keep Colonel Caldwell from eliminating him out of hand as a security risk," Carson added bitterly. "This is the thanks we give the idealistic kids who try to make a difference?"

"Well. Maybe we will be able to bring him in. What do we do then, though?"

"Try again to wean him off the drug, I guess. But we'd have to monitor him much more closely this time, maybe even put him into a complete coma until he got over withdrawal. As it is, it'll probably be agony. Steve, if you have any ideas or thoughts on what else we can do, I'd love to hear them."

Unfortunately, I didn't. All I could think of was how much Ford must be suffering now, and that we would be hurting him even worse until he recovered. And there was still the very real possibility that nothing we did would help. I didn't want to think about what that might mean.

"Carson..." I hesitated. "What happens if we can't do anything for Ford?"

He briefly closed his eyes, an expression of grief and anger on his face. "I don't know, son. Up until now I thought we might just synthesize a constant supply of the enzyme and maintain him on it. But after today..."

I didn't need to be a mind-reader to finish his thought. Would we be forced to let Ford die? Or, worse, asked to help the process along? I had no doubt that Caldwell was capable of demanding something like that. What were the other options, though? Have Caldwell or one of his men shoot Ford? Allow Ford to potentially alert the Wraith of our weaknesses so many other people might be killed?

I'm sure the expression on my face mirrored the sick look on Carson's, and neither of us said anything for a long time afterward.

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I honestly don't know how my father would have handled this. In addition to providing comfort, he had been able to resolve conflicts in his congregation with diplomatic skill to rival Dr. Weir's. I'd like to think that he'd succeed in resolving this one. Unfortunately, I'm not so sure what the right answer is.


	3. Duet

During his many years as head of his congregation, my father the rabbi was frequently called upon to act as a marriage counselor of sorts. He would invite the troubled couple into his study or, less frequently, our living room at home. His ground rules were simple: first he would listen to one spouse, then the other. Interruptions by either party were strictly forbidden. After hearing from both parties, he would offer his interpretation and advice while sipping a cup of tea. His success rate in saving marriages was quite high.

My father must have heard just about every sort of dispute imaginable. But two consciousnesses trapped in one body, bickering like an old married couple? Let's face it, even my distinguished father would have laughed his ass off at that one.

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After almost a day and half of running the infirmary, Dr. Biro took pity on me and took over. Although I was annoyed at Carson for leaving me in charge at a most inopportune time, I could definitely understand why he did it. After the now infamous kiss with Rodney/Cadman, nobody would leave the poor guy alone. Both Carson and Rodney had received standing ovations the first time they showed up in the cafeteria (separately, of course). Supposedly there was even a bootleg video floating around, rumored to have been taken by Dr. Zelenka.

Now that I was off duty, it was my turn to visit the cafeteria. Sitting at one of the tables was none other than our Czech Cecil B. DeMille. I really wanted to hear his perspective on recent events, so I grabbed some food and walked over. "Do you mind if I sit here, Dr. Zelenka?" I asked. He looked at me like he was trying to remember my name, so I held out my hand and said, "Steve Schwartz."

Zelenka snorted. "Ah. The other infirmary martinet, to hear some people talk."

I grinned back at him. "And those people would be Dr. Beckett, correct?"

"I really could not say. Not if I wish to keep my skin unpunctured, that is." He smiled around his sandwich, then gestured. "Please, sit and eat."

I sat, but eating was a different story altogether. I didn't really want to know what was in the stew. It looked like a cross between a chicken breast and spam. Definitely not Kosher, that was for sure. Although, to be fair, I wasn't sure if the Kosher/non-Kosher distinction applied to animals not of terrestrial origin.

In any case, I probably should have just taken a sandwich like Zelenka. He had finished his, and had started to mutter under his breath. I thought I caught the words "Fumbles McStupid," but I couldn't be sure. I raised an eyebrow at him. "What's up, Dr. Z?"

He scowled. "Rodney McKay is one of the most infuriating men I have ever met! Yes, he is my friend, but I could still strangle him. It would be considered justifiable homicide. I try to help him and he insults everything from my intelligence to my parentage!"

A now familiar female voice interrupted. "Oh, I don't know. He grows on you... kind of like a fungus." I looked up to see Lt. Laura Cadman standing next to Zelenka. She nodded to me, but it was clear she wanted to talk to the engineer. She looked none the worse for having been stuck in McKay's head.

Zelenka's expression brightened. "Laura! I did not realize that you had been discharged from infirmary. How are you?"

Cadman winked at me. "These docs couldn't think of any more tests to put me through, so they had to let me go. Although I was disappointed that I wasn't able to speak with Dr. Beckett before I left."

I know I blushed a little, and Zelenka studiously avoided looking at her. "What?" she asked innocently. "He is the chief medical officer. Why wouldn't I want to talk to him? Have to make sure I'm gonna live, after all."

Zelenka smirked. "I'm sure your concern was strictly health-related."

Cadman shrugged. "Well, if he wants to arrange medical follow-up, who am I to argue?"

I coughed to hide the grin that was threatening to spread across my face. Cadman was definitely attracted to Carson. And from the looks of it, that feeling was mutual. Just before he ran off to hide from the entire expedition, he had asked me to tell her that he would be getting in touch. No doubt to discuss her "prognosis."

Zelenka finally gave in to his curiosity as Cadman sat down and put her feet up on an empty chair. "So, what is inside of Rodney's head like? Is horrible, disgusting place?" Since I had been wondering the same thing, I refrained from making a smartass remark and waited for her to answer.

She shook her head. "We couldn't read each other's thoughts or anything like that. It was more like being able to sense strong feelings. He's a very passionate man."

Zelenka sputtered, and I couldn't hold back a few snickers of my own. Cadman reached over and smacked Zelenka in the back of the head. "Not like that, you pervert!"

"Says a woman who kissed a man while trapped in another man's body." Zelenka said under his breath.

"I heard that!"

"Good, you were supposed to!"

"What I meant was that Rodney has very strong beliefs about certain things," Cadman huffed. "For instance, although Rodney would like you to think he has a direct line to God, he's actually desperately afraid of failure. And not just because it would make him look bad. He's also afraid of letting people down."

Yeah, I could see that. I knew guys like that during med school. Arrogant SOB's, but they would willingly work themselves sick if it meant saving a patient. You could probably say the same thing about me, too.

"He's also incredibly altruistic in some ways. When we found out that only one of us could inhabit the body if it were to survive, he was really ready to sacrifice himself. Of course, I couldn't let that happen because he's needed too much."

It seemed to me that Cadman was no selfish miser, either. And as if sensing my own feelings, she suddenly got serious. "Radek, I just wanted to say thank you for helping. Even if Rodney was an ass. Without you, neither of us would have made it." She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

The little Czech engineer turned bright red. "_Není zač_. I'm just glad my skills were enough. Rodney is right -- he is a little smarter. But I will firmly deny if you ever tell him!"

Joking aside, all of them were good people, and I was glad that we had been able to salvage the situation. Almost without realizing it, all of us had become family, and we would do almost anything to help each other through a crisis. And that was the only way we were going to survive the dangers the Pegasus galaxy threw at us.

Now if I could just get Carson to show his face again. And maybe get a copy of that video...

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I don't believe even my father would have been able to handle things better. I'd like to think he'd be proud of us.

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_(A/N Není zač means:You're welcome)_


	4. Condemned

_When they came for the gypsies, I did not speak, for I am not a gypsy;_

_When they came for the Jews, I did not speak, because I wasn't a Jew;_

_When they came for the trade unionists, I did not speak, because I was not a trade unionist;_

_When they came for the Catholics, I did not speak, for I am not a Catholic;_

_And when they came for me, there was no one left to speak._

- Reverend Martin Niemöller

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There have always been collaborators with oppression. My father, may he rest in peace, survived four years in Auschwitz and saw this almost every day. Some people were ready to sell out their fellow prisoners for nothing more than a few cigarettes or an extra ration of bread. Others collaborated merely by turning a blind eye to atrocity. So it doesn't really surprise me that a civilization was willing to make a deal with the devil and sacrifice their own to the Wraith. What does surprise me is that they got away with it for so long.

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I was in the gateroom when Colonel Sheppard's team returned from M47-whatever-the-hell-they-were-calling-it. I didn't have anything else to do at the time, and these guys came in hurt so often that it paid to have at least one medical person standing by. We've seen them run through the gate, crawl through the gate, stumble though the gate, and be blown through the gate. Until today, though, we hadn't seen them coming through the gate looking like a Three Stooges routine. Sheppard was first, looking for all the world like he had taken a racing dive into a swimming pool. He landed gracefully and rolled out of the way of his incoming teammates.

Well, he tried to, anyway.

What actually happened was that Sheppard flew through the gate and landed in a belly flop in front of it. He tried to roll away, but was brought up short by an obviously swollen knee. A second later, he was followed by Teyla, an unfamiliar man, McKay, and Dex. Each cushioned the fall of the one behind, until they all lay in a groaning tangle of arms and legs that would have made Moe, Larry, and Curly proud.

That Canadian guy who replaced Grodin (I'm terrible with names) made a heroic effort not to burst out laughing, especially when his fellow countryman tried to simultaneously yell at Sheppard and Dex and whine about his bad back. Dr. Zelenka, who was overseeing a sensor upgrade, was not able to manage this feat. He laughed for two solid minutes before running out of breath, well on the way to a new record.

I simply clicked on my earpiece, figuring that this was something Carson would want to know about. He had just returned from hiding out after the involuntary smooch with Rodney, so he should be prepared to deal with any weirdness that came along. And it certainly looked like this was going to qualify.

"Aye? What's happening up there, lad?"

I couldn't quite hide a sigh as I replied, "Colonel Sheppard and his team have just dived through the gate. Not quite Olympic quality, but it looks like they were under fire at the time."

There was a pause on the other end and then, "I'm on my way up there with a team, although I'm not really sure I want to know the details."

Surprisingly, though, when we got everyone to the infirmary we found relatively little physical damage. Rodney and Teyla were fine, although the former carried on in his usual hypochondriacal fashion. I took a look at Ronan's arrow wound, but there were no fragments requiring surgical removal. All he ended up needing were antibiotics and a tetanus shot. We suspected a concussion in John in addition to the knee injury that he was rather close-lipped about, so he was the lucky winner of a one-night stay in our establishment. And Eldon, the little alien guy, was uninjured but badly malnourished. He would need a thorough medical history and physical exam once things quieted down a little.

So all in all, it was one of the lightest-casualty missions yet... if you only counted physical distress. Emotionally, all five of them looked traumatized. John, Teyla, and Rodney had haunted expressions on their faces the entire time they were being examined. Ronan, despite the nonchalant image he tried to project, radiated a quiet anger. Eldon just looked completely in shock. (I made a mental note to recommend that Kate Heightmeyer speak to him soon.)

At first, none of them were willing to talk about what they had seen. But later that evening, when everyone but John had left, Carson went over to his bed and sat down to talk. And although he can be brusque and plainspoken at times, he's got a fabulous bedside manner when necessary. From where I sat writing up my charts, I could hear Carson's gentle encouragement. And it eventually worked.

"So what's the story, lad? I've never seen all of you so subdued like this. Even Rodney was unusually quiet -- for him, at least."

"I've seen some totally whacked out societies, doc, but this one was the sickest of the lot. They fed their own to the Wraith." He shook his head. "They tried to justify it by only sending "the worst of the worst" to the island. But then the supply of truly evil criminals dwindled. By the time we crash landed, pretty much anything that the ruling government didn't like was grounds for turning someone into Wraithbait. The rest of the people either didn't know or didn't care what was going on."

Carson smiled sadly. "Aye, it does sound like a terrible thing. But it was going on for hundreds of years. It's amazing that you accomplished as much as you did by setting those people free."

"No, you're not getting it. Where do you think those Wraith ships went after we sent everyone on the island away? They went to the mainland to run wild. And while there were undoubtedly some innocent people on the island, there were a hell of a lot more of them on the mainland. It was a hell of a choice. Do nothing, let the Wraith cull the prisoners, and allow the vile cycle to continue. Or, let the prisoners go and have the Wraith cull the mainland. They'd get rid of the corrupt SOB's who ran the government but take countless others with them."

This might be something I could help with. I caught Carson's eye. "May I?" He nodded. I walked over and sat down on the bed opposite from John's. "You know, that society sounds like Nazi Germany in a way," I said. "You had a marginalized group that was rounded up and persecuted. At first it was justified by the government on the basis of "crimes" these people committed. Later, nobody even bothered to try to justify it. Do anything even remotely seditious, and you were labeled a "Jew" and disappeared." I swallowed, my mouth dry. "And the places these people were sent rivaled the Wraith in their cruelty. I heard my father's stories."

"Your father was in the camps?"

"Auschwitz. He was there from 1942-1945. And he was the only one from his family who survived. But the only people he really felt bitterness towards were the ordinary German citizens."

Carson was listening just as intently as John. I'd never told these things to anyone before and I certainly wasn't happy telling them now, particularly to my boss. John obviously needed to hear it, though, and Carson just watched us both in a nonjudgemental, compassionate way.

"Why?" John finally asked.

"Because they could have stopped it." Now my voice was harsh. "You really think that if the entire community repudiated what was being done in their name, the government could have survived? 'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.' Edmund Burke."

"I think I see what you're getting at, then," Carson said thoughtfully. "You're saying that the average people of Olesia should have tried to stop what was going on."

"And because they didn't, it makes them almost as guilty. So, in spite of what you first said, I don't think there were 'a hell of a lot more' innocent people on the mainland." I suddenly felt very tired. "A few people say that Franklin Roosevelt knew about the atrocities in the concentration camps, but chose to bomb factories and railroads instead, supposedly to end the war more quickly and thus save more lives. Small consolation to those in the camps who died before being liberated. For whatever it's worth, I think you did the right thing today. Once the Wraith came through the gate, you couldn't do anything to save the society on the mainland. But at least you gave a few innocent people a chance."

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Somehow telling my father's story brought it home to me in a way that nothing had before. Perhaps it was seeing history's mistakes being reenacted by people not even from our own galaxy. Despite my words to John, I knew that there weren't truly any right decisions in situations like these. Knowing didn't make it any easier, of course, but that wasn't necessarily such a bad thing. Maybe remembering the pain of our choices would be an incentive to help others we meet in the future avoid ever having to face them.


	5. Trinity

_"I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."_ -- J. Robert Oppenheimer, quoting the Bhagavad Gita

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Albert Einstein. Oppenheimer. Richard Feynman. Sir Joseph Rotblat. My father admired all these men. Jewish physicists, some of whom escaped Nazi oppression. He felt they were proudly representing our religion when they made enormous contributions to science. I admired them, too, but for a different reason.

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I walked into the infirmary to the lovely sound of someone in the bathroom emptying his stomach of everything he'd ever eaten. I wasn't sure who it was at first, but the Gaelic curses delivered in an ever-thickening brogue quickly gave it away. I winced in sympathy. Had Carson fallen victim to the stomach flu passed around by Radek Zelenka? Or was it something else? Either way, he sounded like he'd be feeling lousy -- and irritable as hell -- for awhile.

I fetched a bottle of "Lantisade", the expedition's version of Gatorade, which we had concocted because of the invariably high numbers of dehydration cases that we saw. The causes ranged from alien viruses to heat exhaustion to hypoglycemia, but fortunately the treatment was always the same: fluid replacement. The beverage's formula was based on the World Health Organization's oral rehydration solution, but the taste was unlikely to improve our fearless leader's mood any. Still, it would probably piss him off less than being hooked up to an IV.

Carson finally emerged from the bathroom looking, as my late mother might have said, like a dead dog. "Go away!" he growled when he saw me. "Just give me some bloody privacy so I can die in peace."

I already knew that he was one of the worst patients I've ever seen, so I wasn't offended. "Tempting as that may sound, I'd rather not have to deal with the paperwork," I said dryly. "So sit the hell down before you fall down and drink some of this." And it was a measure of how miserable he must have been feeling that he acquiesed with only some token bitching about the general intelligence level of surgeons.

I took a seat next to Carson at the nurses' station. He took a small sip of the bright orange-colored liquid and grimaced, but continued to drink slowly when he realized it was going to stay down for now. "What happened?" I asked. "Zelenka strikes again?"

"Not the lad's fault. I just watched Dr. Biro perform an autopsy. She can be a right scary woman sometimes."

I raised my eyebrows. Carson didn't strike me as someone who would get sick watching autopsies. We doctors prided ourselves on our ability to watch gory things without flinching. As a medical student, I could talk about horrible accidents or autopsies and eat at the same time. However, it quickly became difficult to find anyone besides other medical students willing to have dinner with me. (Maybe that's why I'm still single.) "Who died?"

"Dr. Collins. He suffered lethal radiation burns during the test firing of a weapon Colonel Sheppard's team found. But the thing is, he couldn't have been exposed to the radiation for more than about fifteen seconds. Any way you look at it, he shouldn't be dead right now. But yet, that autopsy could have been of someone just outside the blast radius at Hiroshima." Carson eyed his drink with distaste, but took several more swallows.

"Bad, was it?" I asked. No wonder he was queasy!

"The worst. He must have been reaching for something to shut the leak down, because his right hand bore the brunt of the damage. There wasn't a single area with intact skin, and two of his fingers were fused together. It reminded me of the reports I read about Daniel Jackson's death from naquadriah radiation poisoning." Carson closed his eyes and swallowed convulsively, probably due to another wave of nausea.

"You okay?" I asked. He shouldn't have been affected this badly, even if it had been an horrific sight.

He nodded without opening his eyes and pushed the bottle of Lantisade away from him. "Disgusting stuff," he muttered. After a minute, he opened his eyes again. "I've never seen anything like it. It must have been some altogether new form of radiation."

"Incidents like that are not without precedent," I argued. "Criticality accidents have occurred back on Earth. The first one occurred at Los Alamos, I believe." At Carson's quizzical look, I clarified. "A criticality accident can happen either when controls to prevent a chain reaction fail or when a desired chain reaction somehow goes out of control. Sounds like this one was the latter." How did I know this? After we deliberately nuked ourselves to fake out the Wraith, I had read everything I could find on radiation exposure and the Manhattan Project. Hey, always fun to find out what may be in store for you.

"Aye, Rodney said something about that. Some poor sod who dropped a plutonium brick. But that guy deteriorated over a period of weeks, not seconds!" Carson mumbled something that sounded like "arrogant git."

"Excuse me?"

"Rodney. He wants to try again. Thinks he can somehow make this work when the Ancients couldn't. I ought to drag his sorry ass over to the morgue and make him look at what's left of Collins. He's acting like it barely bothers him!" Abruptly Carson doubled over, curling his arms against his abdomen as he was wracked by a spasm of pain.

"Okay, this is NOT just a case of you being squeamish." I had a bad feeling about this. Impossibly high radiation doses? New forms of radiation? "Carson, were you and Dr. Biro using any shielding on the body while doing the postmortem?"

"Lead shielding? No. Do you think...?"

"Yes I do," I said grimly. I grabbed him as he started to sway and gently but firmly sat him down on one of the infirmary beds.

"But that's impossible. Collins was just exposed to external radiation. His body itself shouldn't be radioactive!"

"You yourself said you've never seen anything like this before. I don't think we can afford to overlook any possibility." I called out for one of the nurses, ignoring Carson's indignant sputtering. Then I grabbed a couple of blood tubes, a tourniquet, and a needle. If he hadn't chosen that moment to retch again, I don't think I would have been able to get him to cooperate. But when he started vomiting blood, even he got scared.

Damn it! I so did not need this right now.

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I knew I would find Rodney on this particular balcony. It had become the place to go when you were sad, angry, lonely, or any other emotion that could be dealt with by staring out at the ocean. From what I'd heard, Rodney would probably be experiencing all of them.

As I got closer, I saw that John was on the balcony with him. Rodney was gripping the railing with white-knuckled hands, while John was dropping Athosian fruit pits into the ocean one by one. "I said I'm sorry, John. I don't know what else I can say."

"Yes, you're sorry," replied John in an odd tone of voice. "But do you even understand what you did wrong?"

Rodney sounded affronted. "I would think that was obvious. I screwed up the test firing and blew up most of a solar system. Most people would say that's not good."

"No, Rodney! I mean, yes, you did detonate the greatest weapon of mass destruction of all time. Fine. Here's an honorary membership in the Axis of Evil. But if it had just been that, I wouldn't be as upset. No, it was the fact that you put almighty science ahead of everything else. Including your own life, the lives of your friends, and your own humanity."

"What!" yelped Rodney. I probably should have left and come back later. But I also wanted to know what John meant. Call me a _yenta_.

"Just before the first A-bomb test, some of the scientists placed bets on what they thought would happen. One group thought that the chain reaction might be self-sustaining and ignite the planet's atmosphere. Don't you get it? They thought it might be a complete cataclysm, but they went ahead with the test anyway. Who cares if every living thing on Earth is incinerated? At least it will be one hell of a bang before we go!"

"It was a theoretical impossibility!" Rodney protested. "The calculations proved that never could have happened."

"Same thing for that large cloud of space debris you just created! Can you imagine if any of those planets had been inhabited?" Rodney looked sick. "My point is that even if such a disaster was absolutely, positively impossible by the equations, there are some things too horrible to take a chance with. Even if it answers the question about life, the universe, and everything. Even if it gets you fame and fortune. And even if it gets you the chance to prove you're smarter than everyone else! Science. Isn't. Everything."

John stopped, took a deep breath, and made an effort to stop shouting. "Rodney, I almost didn't recognize the man I was talking to there at the end. It wasn't you; it was more like the Terminator. I hated that movie, okay? I don't really want to see it again."

Now Rodney looked like someone had punched him in the gut. "You don't think I know that?" he said hoarsely. "You don't think I'm gonna have to live with this for the rest of my life? Collins is dead. I almost killed the two of us and could have destroyed the Daedalus. Jesus. And Carson..."

"Carson is fine," I said firmly, stepping onto the balcony. "He's tired and cranky and starting to drive me nuts, but he's otherwise fine. He wanted me to let both of you know."

"Just starting?" asked John with a faint smile on his face.

"You have no idea."

"How is that possible?" asked Rodney. "We all heard what the radiation did to Collins."

I joined the two men at the rail. "Carson wasn't directly exposed to the radiation source. Instead, he got a secondary dose from the body. That dose was much lower, and therefore he had only a mild case of acute radiation toxicity."

"What about the whole throwing up blood thing?" Rodney wanted to know. That had really freaked him out.

"That was as much from stress as from anything else. Really, he's okay. His blood counts are coming back up and the vomiting has stopped, to my great relief."

"His, too, I bet." smirked John. Then he turned serious again. "Just think about what I said, okay Rodney?" He nodded to me and left.

I continued to look out over the ocean, figuring that Rodney probably wasn't done talking. Sure enough, he didn't disappoint me.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Well what?"

"Well, shouldn't you be off... saving someone or something like that?"

I pretended to think for a minute. "Nope. No one in dire need of saving right now." Unless you counted the man standing in front of me.

"So you're just going to hang around to make sure I don't blow anything else up?"

I snorted. "Right now, McKay, the only thing I'm worried about exploding is your brain. Relax, will you?"

And surprisingly, he did. "I used to not care about trust, but now that I've lost that trust, it matters to me," he admitted, sounding subdued. "I really screwed up, didn't I."

I nodded. "Yup, you did. And you're right, people may not trust you for awhile."

"Was that supposed to be comforting?"

"Yes!" I snapped. "You're lucky that you have friends willing to watch over you, to see that you don't do something even you can't live with. Cadman said you were a passionate man; you'd be eaten alive by guilt if anything like that ever happened."

"She's one to talk!" Rodney snapped back, but his heart didn't seem to be in it.

"Look at how guilty you felt about Carson's illness," I said more gently. "He knew it, too; that's why he wanted me to update you and John. And that was a relatively minor consequence of your actions."

"Yeah, I know. It's just that... I wanted that thing to work so badly I could taste it. The sheer knowledge we could have gained. I think that's what really drove me." He paused, "Don't get me wrong, though, the fame and fortune would have been nice, too."

"Well at least you're in good company. To some extent, Oppenheimer believed that about the atomic bomb. Einstein and Richard Feynman felt the same way -- it was easy to lose sight of the consequences when caught up in the excitement of solving a puzzle."

Rodney sniffed. "That's all well and good, but wasn't that at the end of their careers? They had plenty of time to create their own explosions before then."

"Okay, then. Here's another name for you. Sir Joseph Rotblat." I was really enjoying sparring with Rodney McKay! It was invigorating, and I could definitely see why John did it so often.

"Who?"

"He was the only person to quit the Manhattan Project because of ethical concerns."

"Yeah? And what happened to him? He flip burgers or something for the rest of his life?"

I kept my tone deliberately casual. "Oh, he won a little prize in 1995. The Nobel Peace Prize, that is." Rodney's jaw dropped. Let him chew on that for a bit.

My earpiece suddenly clicked twice and a frantic voice spoke from the other end. I listened, then shrugged. "Sorry, I've got to get back to the infirmary. I've got to keep the rest of the medical staff from killing the CMO."

Rodney smiled, albeit a little sadly. "For a surgeon, you're not a bad shrink. Thanks for giving me something to think about, Goldberg."

"Schwartz."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

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Albert Einstein. J. Robert Oppenheimer. Richard Feynman. Sir Joseph Rotblat. Yes, they were all brilliant Jewish scientists. But just as importantly, they were also humanists. Would Rodney McKay join their ranks? Only time would tell, but he'd certainly taken an important step today.

Even though Rodney's not Jewish, I think my father would have been proud.

-

_A/N: The last time I had a case of gastroenteritis, my own Jewish mother told me I looked like a dead dog. Very sympathetic. :-)_


	6. Instinct

By now, everyone knows I've tendered my resignation. I'll miss the adventure and excitement here, but I no longer think I can work with Carson Beckett. Oh, he's a good man in many ways. He's a caring physician, and I've seen him bring patients back from the brink of death. But today I saw a different side of him, and it scared the hell out of me.

I told John Sheppard that after the Holocaust the only people my father felt bitterness towards were the ordinary German citizens. That's only partially true. I found out several years after he died that he had been one of the few to pass through Mengele's laboratories and survive. He therefore couldn't forgive the scholars, the learned men and women, either. Doctors, scientists, professionals who should have known better than to succumb to the seduction of Nazi propaganda. No doubt many felt that they were doing the best thing for their own people. And so they put the tools of medicine and science to work trying to find the easiest path to genocide, since the ends would invariably justify the means.

I have to wonder. Is that so different from what we're doing here? Are we trying to change Wraith back into humans, or are we trying to find the easiest way to destroy them? God help me, what have I been a part of?

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I first became uneasy when I overheard Carson in the infirmary talking to Weir and Sheppard about the young Wraith girl. As he discussed her physiology, his eyes lit up with the excitement of discovery. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it raised my hackles anyway. Maybe it was the way in which he referred to her, very clinically detached. By the time he offhandedly indicated his desire to work with a "cooperative test subject", my mental alarm bells were ringing furiously.

I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, though, so I approached him as he was preparing to go offworld. "Carson, do you have a minute?"

"Sure. What's on your mind, son?" When I hesitated, he looked concerned and waved me into his office. "Is everything all right, then?"

I wasn't quite sure how to say it, but I gave it a try. "I couldn't help but overhear you talking about a Wraith child. What's going on?"

Carson grinned, looking excited again. "It's really quite fascinatin', actually. We don't know all that much about the life cycle of the Wraith, but it seems like it may have two distinct phases: the child form, which can exist on actual food, and the adult form, which needs to feed on humans to survive. I won't know much more until I get there, but from what Colonel Sheppard tells me, this young Wraith has gone for several years without feeding on anyone! Apparently a serum her father developed is inhibiting that aspect of its metabolism..."

Carson would make a good medical school professor. He enjoys lecturing and teaching things to people, and can't help but transmit his own enthusiasm. However, it wasn't helpful at that moment. When he paused to take a breath, I jumped in. "You're taking the retrovirus with you? I thought it wasn't ready yet."

"Oh, it's not. But if it is the serum that's helping this Wraith to avoid feeding, it's possible that we could incorporate part of its chemical structure into the retrovirus's genetic code. Why do you ask? I didn't think you were interested in molecular genetics."

I forced a smile of my own. "I'm not. I think it's horribly boring stuff. I was just a little worried, that's all. You might be putting yourself in danger if you use an untested delivery system." Not exactly the truth, but it would do.

"Och, I appreciate your concern, Steve. No, like I said, the virus is far from ready for human trials. The most I'll be doing is conducting some tests with fresh blood and tissue samples. It's a pity, though, that we won't be able to bring her back with us." Before I could say anything regarding my concerns about ethical experimentation, Carson patted me on the back and walked towards the door. He looked at me over his shoulder and said, "Besides, look on the bright side. If anything does happen to me, you'll get promoted to CMO!" Then he left.

To quote the wise Han Solo, I had a very bad feeling about this.

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Sure enough, things didn't go very well, to say the least. I heard some of the details during the post-mission briefings. (Dr. Weir had asked me to sit in, to provide another medical perspective.) The Wraith girl, Ellia, desperate for a cure to her hunger, managed to inject herself with the retrovirus without anyone noticing. Instead of doing what it was supposed to do, though, it stripped her of all her human attributes. She was beginning to undergo a transformation from Wraith to one of those bug creatures, and in the process gained speed and strength. Unfortunately, her mind was also affected, and Colonel Sheppard was forced to kill her in self defense.

The thought that kept going through my head was that this death could have been prevented if Carson had left well enough alone. Yes, I know that Zaddik's serum didn't work and she probably would have continued killing villagers. But the fact that she had a conscience was a more hopeful sign than we'd ever seen before. It also added to the tragedy.

I'm not sure why I felt so personally betrayed. Maybe it was because I thought that, as medics, we should be noncombatants in the war against the Wraith. Maybe it was also because Carson had listened so compassionately when I told John the story of my family's experience in Nazi Germany, yet he was trying to tinker with the very genes of the enemy. That hit just a little too close to home.

Whatever the reason, I was furious over the next few days. I didn't see much of Carson during that time. They'd brought Ellia's body back to Atlantis, and he was no doubt observing Dr. Biro performing the autopsy. (Now there was a woman who enjoyed her job a little too much.) It was the third night after their return that he and I were finally in the infirmary at the same time.

To be fair, he looked devastated. There were dark rings under his eyes and he sat slightly hunched over. His face never lost its haggard expression. Nevertheless, my emotions were still raging, and I tried to ignore him during most of our shift.

From the looks Carson kept giving me, he knew I was upset, but couldn't seem to figure out why. He eventually took the direct approach. "Steve, you're obviously angry about something. Can ye tell me what it is? Maybe I can help."

I took deep breaths for a few seconds, not entirely trusting my voice. "What the hell happened down there?" I finally ground out. "You said the damn thing wasn't going to be used!"

"It shouldn't have been," Carson said quietly. "Ellia took matters into her own hands, and I think I can understand why she did it."

"Oh, so she has a name now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"It means why did you even tell them about it to begin with?" I snapped. "You yourself said you didn't want to get their hopes up. Did you secretly want to see what would happen in an intact subject?"

"What the devil's gotten into you, lad?" he breathed, dismayed.

"What, indeed! It might have something to do with seeing you play mad scientist so soon after seeing McKay play mad scientist! He probably has you beat since he destroyed a few planets, but if you keep tinkering with Wraith DNA something almost as bad is bound to occur!"

"Well, forgive me for tryin' to do some good! Both for the people of this galaxy who are getting culled and for those miserable Wraith sods themselves! And I did NOT secretly want the girl to play guinea pig. How can you even say that?" If anything, Carson now looked even worse than before. He was trembling slightly and his eyes were haunted. But it was like a dam had burst in me and all of the pain of watching my father was boiling out. For the rest of his life, he was terrified of doctors and refused to seek any medical care. It killed him in the end, when a colon cancer that could have been detected spread throughout his entire body.

"You were practically salivating at the chance to study a live Wraith who wasn't going to try to suck the life out you. Did you even bother to ask her if she was willing?" I asked grimly.

"Aye, of course I did! Both she and her father agreed. The poor girl hated what she was becoming. My God, you're making me sound like some kind of monster!"

"No, you're not a monster," I sighed. "But... damn it, Carson, this could be considered biological warfare! Didn't you learn your lesson after Hoff?"

I knew as soon as I spoke that I had gone one step too far. Carson stopped shaking, and his face became eerily calm. I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but he's a very tactile person. He's always patting people on the back or slapping them on the shoulder. Well, this time I thought he was going to hit me.

"How dare you?" he almost whispered. "Don't think for one moment that I'm not going to have to live with Hoff for the rest of my life. That drug killed thousands. So, just maybe, I'd like to atone for my role in one of the biggest mass murders in history! This retrovirus, once we get it to work, has the potential to end the culling of millions! Maybe that will allow me to finally get some peace."

I tried to interrupt, but he plowed right on, his voice starting to rise. "And if we're really lucky, we might be able to use a derivative of this to help Lieutenant Ford. Let's not forget that he practically shot his way out of my infirmary!" I didn't miss Carson's use of the word 'my' instead of 'our.' "He should have been restrained and sedated, but I got careless and now he's running around this galaxy with an addled brain doing God knows what! So what the bloody hell gives you the right to judge?"

I remembered from when he appointed me 2IC that Carson had a self-critical streak the size of the Mississippi. Our shouting match was undoubtedly feeding it, but for the moment I didn't really care. "I'll tell you what gives me the right. One day Josef Mengele decided that he wanted to observe every detail of what happened when the human body starved. So they stopped giving food to my father. To this day, I have no idea what made them stop the experiment in the middle, but he survived. Never trusted doctors again, but wanted his only son to become one." I shook my head and continued in a lower voice. "I never did figure that one out."

"I didn't know that," Carson said quietly.

"No, you didn't," I agreed in a conversational tone. "But it doesn't really matter. I am hereby tendering my resignation, effective immediately."

I turned around and had started to leave when he called out, "I'm not accepting it. Both of us need to cool down a wee bit." But I just ignored him and continued to walk out of his office.

_TBC_

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_A/N Some folks have asked me about this. Steve Schwartz was first introduced in the fic "Asclepius", where he had the unfortunate luck to be on duty when Carson came in practically dead. The rest, as they say, is history._

_A/N: Yup, whumped them both but good! This will be a two-parter with the installment for "Conversion."_

_A/N: I wrote this because I really was disturbed by some of the medical ethics (or lack thereof) displayed in this episode. If you watch closely, Carson never gives Elizabeth an answer when she asks if he thinks Ellia will cooperate._


	7. Aurora

_Let's roll._

- Todd Beamer, United Airlines Flight 93. September 11, 2001

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I was fortunate in that I didn't know anybody who died on 9/11. Like the rest of the country, I spent as much time as I could in front of the TV set, watching and rewatching the horrible images of planes striking the World Trade Center. But somehow, the story of Flight 93 always captivated me the most. Somewhere in the skies over Pennsylvania, forty people realized that they were most likely doomed. But instead of passively accepting their fate, they banded together to fight the ones that would destroy them. And, although they ultimately gave their lives, they succeeded in their mission.

What went through the heads of those people during the 35 minutes between the time the hijackers took over the plane and when it crashed outside of Shanksville? They had enough time to realize that they wouldn't be returning home. When did they decide to use their deaths to make a difference?

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The interactions between John, Rodney, and our CMO are always interesting to watch. On the outside, Rodney's a hypochondriacal whiner. Every little symptom is blown out of proportion. But put him in a setting where he has to prevent death and destruction, and he completely puts aside his own well-being. Complaining all the way, of course, but he does it.

John is almost exactly the opposite in some ways. You have to threaten him to even get him to admit he feels physical sensations. (I wonder if Dr. Heightmeyer knows how often her name is invoked to get him to cooperate.) He will also put everyone else's life and health ahead of his own, without whining, I might add.

Both of them, of course, drive Carson to distraction. The good doctor spends much of his time trying to patch them together, and then they go out and ruin his handiwork. He sometimes looks like he wants to kill them himself, except for the fact that it would really defeat the purpose. So he usually just settles for glaring and muttering incomprehensibly.

This time, though, I thought he was going to go ballistic. It was right after John, Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla came back from their mission aboard the Aurora. Carson was off-duty when they returned, and rather than wait for him, they insisted that Dr. Biro perform their post-mission checks. She's a decent clinician, but isn't used to their sneakiness. She discharged them without a second thought.

It would have ended there, except that Rodney let slip in a memo that John was having headaches. Returning the favor, John announced that Rodney might be having them, too. One thing led to another, and Carson found out that John and Rodney had used untested stasis chambers to communicate with the crew of the Aurora. Needless to say, he was not amused.

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"Idiots! They're bloody daft!" Carson looked like he wanted to say something else, but modulated his language when he saw Nurse Henning walk by. Judy rolled her eyes, obviously having heard him let loose before.

I didn't even have to ask who "they" were. "What have John and Rodney done this time?"

"They can't keep their grubby little hands off the Ancient technology! Apparently they thought it would be fun to stick their heads in random alien gadgets while on the Aurora."

Technically the Aurora wasn't alien, but I wasn't about to argue.

Carson continued to carry on. "... obviously the thought that they might fry their brains never occurred to them." He snorted. "Maybe it would actually raise their IQs a few points."

Here's a novel idea. "They must have had some reason."

"Oh, aye. I'm sure they did. And I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time, too." He sighed. "At the very least they could have called for medical back-up."

I didn't want to be in their shoes right now. As he turned to step into his office, I said, "So you'll be bringing John and Rodney back in for another work-up." It wasn't a question.

Carson's eyes gleamed. "Oh, yes. In an hour. And they probably won't be enjoying it."

"Get their mission reports first," I suggested. "That might give you some ammunition."

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I heard them even before I saw them.

"You know, I didn't think there were any gutters in Atlantis. But your mind seems to have found one, anyway, Colonel." John had an innocent expression on his face. I couldn't decide if I wanted to know what he and Rodney were talking about, or not.

One of the nurses sent them into exam cubicles to change into hospital gowns. There was no real reason to use them instead of scrubs, except for the annoyance factor. The first item on the agenda was to collect blood samples, and I could hear ill-tempered squawking coming from Rodney's general direction. The colonel was a little more stoic about it, at least until he started complaining about becoming anemic.

Once that was done, Carson let them cool their heels for awhile. Finally he headed over to Rodney's cubicle. On the way, he handed me the mission reports. "They made for some interesting reading," he said.

I started at the beginning. It had apparently been a straightforward mission at first. Board the derelict ship, find out what had happened to it, and see if there was any usable technology. But then Teyla had made the discovery that the Aurora's crew was alive and in stasis, and things got much more interesting after that. John had entered a stasis chamber to contact the crew in a virtual reality environment, but only after Rodney assured him that the chambers were safe. (I'm sure Rodney would get an earful from Carson about that estimation.)

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the colonel walking away from the brain scanner. He'd just finished his scan and looked relieved to be out of the machine. He wandered over to the screen to peer at a picture of his brain. Judy noticed him and went to see what he was looking at. I laughed to myself when she said, "Well, it at least proves you have one." Score: Judy 1, Sheppard 0.

Poor John. He had a deer-in-the-headlights expression as he looked around the infirmary, presumably for a method of escape. He saw me and grasped for a lifeline. "Schwartz! Please tell me that at least one person is going to take pity on me."

We had developed an odd relationship while he was turning into a bug -- not quite friends, but we did share an understanding. John had trusted me enough to ask that we kill him if his condition progressed beyond the point of no return. I promised that I would do everything possible to spare him suffering. (_A/N: See "Moral Compass"_)

But that doesn't mean I was ready to save him from a Scottish butt-kicking session.

"Sorry, Colonel. It's every man for himself. Usually when the boss is this riled up, it's at me! I'm keeping a low profile on this one." And wasn't that the truth! As CMO and 2IC, our relationship was interesting, to say the least. We've disagreed with each other and yelled at each other. Hell, we've even threatened each other (usually with sedation or the brig, to get each other to rest). And although we had seemingly irreconcilable differences about the retrovirus research, we managed to come to an understanding.

"Chicken," John shot back.

From my vantage point, I could see the angry Scot in question, but John couldn't. So he jumped a little when a hand gripped his shoulder firmly. Then he mumbled something about Rodney and dead men. As Carson practically dragged the man back to his office, I turned my attention back to John's report.

"_... captain finally believed me when what looked like First Officer Trebal morphed into a horrible mixture of human and Wraith, and then vanished. He realized right away that the crew was much too old to survive removal from the stasis chambers. The condition of the real Officer Trebal was proof of that._

"_The captain was understandably distressed at the situation, but quickly grasped what needed to be done. If the Wraith were on their way to retrieve the hyperdrive data, then they could not be allowed to leave with it. He gave me the Aurora's self-destruct codes and showed me how to use them. Then he left me to address his crew for the last time, but not before making me promise him one thing._

"_Colonel Caldwell and the crew of the Daedalus beamed Rodney and me directly to the bridge as soon as they detected both of our life signs. The Wraith cruisers had already emerged from hyperspace and were beginning their attack. Colonel Caldwell then proceeded to engage the Daedalus's engines at high thrust to move us away from the vicinity of the Ancient ship. We watched as the Aurora exploded, taking the two cruisers in its wake. It was an act of heroism that I haven't seen since... well, in a long time._

"_Upon returning to Atlantis, all of us briefed Dr. Weir as to what had occurred. Although we were not able to obtain the classified data, knowing that the Wraith have a weakness will spur us to search for it. I have faith that Drs. McKay and Zelenka, as well as the rest of the science staff, will eventually rediscover it. The mission officially concluded with all of us raising a glass to toast the Aurora and her crew. Their sacrifice will not be forgotten."_

Rodney's report was typical for him:

"_... once I realized the nature of the virtual environment, it was quite simple for me to work out a means of manipulating it. After due consideration, I entered the VE to determine why Colonel Sheppard was not emerging. I found him locked in the ship's brig, of all places. However, the overly suspicious and paranoid crew locked me in there, too. We managed to... negotiate our way out._

"_Due to my elegant little algorithm, we had instant access to the ship's computers. Unfortunately, the communiqué that Colonel Sheppard was seeking had been erased. He sent me to disengage the Wraith and to make sure the crew on the Daedalus didn't get itchy trigger fingers. After the Wraith had been successfully dealt with, Colonel Sheppard entered the system one final time._

"_Simultaneously with the Wraith cruisers entering the system, the Colonel and I beamed back onto the Daedalus. The Aurora was destroyed, in the process taking the cruisers with her. Although I did not interact with the crew to the same degree as the Colonel, they seemed a loyal and dedicated lot._"

Now I could understand why neither of them wanted anyone poking and prodding them too hard. After being connected telepathically to a crew of our 10,000 year old ancestors, they had to watch as the crew sacrificed themselves to give us a fighting chance. They most likely wanted some time to reflect, not the banality of a post-mission check. As to why they didn't follow up later, well, by then their usual orneriness must have kicked back in.

I jumped to avoid being hit as Rodney suddenly stalked out of Carson's office and left the infirmary. A few minutes later John followed, whistling jauntily. He gave me a cheeky grin as he also walked out. I raised my eyes to the ceiling and slowly started counting.

"Schwartz!" Yup. And I'd barely made it to four. This was my cue to exit, stage left.

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Again, that would have been the end of it, but I ran into the colonel in the cafeteria later that night. It was a little before midnight, but the pantry was always open for people working the late shift. The medical staff were usually prime candidates, as were Rodney and his minions. I rarely saw John here, though. Either he wasn't usually awake at this hour or, more likely, he just forgot to eat.

I had my hands wrapped around a cup of coffee when he walked in. I was tired, having just finished an emergency gall bladder removal. Although the members of the expedition were almost disgustingly healthy, every once in a while something like this popped up. It was fine with me -- it gave me a chance to practice something other than trauma surgery. I would have preferred it occur at a more normal hour, but I'll take what I can get.

Eventually I put the cup down and began writing a list of things to do on my PDA. I would swing back to the infirmary one more time before going to bed. I had to check on Sergeant Sanchez and make sure he wasn't having any postoperative fever. Then I had to head to the lab to make sure one particular experiment was running smoothly. (I'm not a researcher by any stretch of the imagination, but I've been helping with some of Carson's ATA studies. If we're successful, hopefully the gene therapy will work on me the next time we try it.)

A new mug of coffee suddenly hit the table in front of me with a _thunk_. John was grinning at me when I looked up. "I figured you might need this," he said, "You've been staring at that PDA without writing anything for at least ten minutes."

I took it sheepishly. "Thanks, I guess I do need it."

"I thought you guys didn't need to sleep for days on end," he teased.

I snorted. "It's a myth, perpetrated by hospitals that don't want to hire extra personnel. Want to sit down?"

"Don't mind if I do, doc." John settled his lanky body into the chair across from mine and ran a hand through his "non-regulation hair." (Elizabeth had ribbed him about that in her annual holiday memo.) Then he started tossing an apple from hand to hand.

"Sooo..." I drawled innocently. "How did you manage to get away from us so easily today? I'd have thought for sure that you and Rodney were toast."

"Easily? What are you talking about; we got our asses handed to us," John said ruefully. He took a bite of the apple and chomped noisily. "We're not grounded, though, so I guess it could have gone worse."

I nodded, agreeing with him. For a few minutes there was only silence, although I could see him eyeing me cautiously as we ate. "What?" I finally asked.

"You medical guys. You never see the big picture. The four of us were exploring the only Ancient warship we've ever found and trying to do it with two Wraith ships approaching. So when we found a way to communicate with the crew, did you really expect us to just wait for backup?"

"Nah, probably not. But it is getting a bit boring, patching you four up every week. Oh, and by the way, I've lost a ton of money on Radek's betting pools." Zelenka will bet on just about anything, including the number and type of injuries sustained by various team members on their missions. "So if it isn't too much trouble, do you think you could check with me before getting whumped again? I'll tell you what to break."

"You're all heart," said John. But the corners of his mouth quirked upward into a smile. "Seriously, though, we're aware of the risks we take. I won't let any of my team do something that doesn't have at least a chance of working."

I leaned back and folded my arms across my chest. "But what about you?"

"What about me? If the captain of the Aurora was willing to sacrifice his ship and crew to give us a chance, how can I do any less?" A brief look of sadness crossed his face. Despite his flip words, it was obvious that he was deeply moved by the Ancient's actions.

"So what exactly happened?" I asked. Maybe it would shed some light on why John seemed to think he was expendable.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "When I first met the captain, he was working frantically to fix his hyperdrive. To get back to Atlantis and deliver vital information, or so he thought. He was working himself to death because he loved his home that much. The look on his face when he realized he wouldn't be coming home was awful to see."

John stopped, and I waited for him to continue. He stared at the table in front of him for a long minute. Finally, "Despite knowing that 10,000 years had passed and his own people were gone, he chose to continue the fight for his home in the only way he could."

"And his descendants," I pointed out. "It had to have helped, knowing he was saving the many-times distant children of his people."

"Probably true," John admitted. "So then it makes even more sense for me to be prepared to do the same."

How to respond to that? Absently I wadded up a napkin in front of me and began batting it back and forth. "You know what the problem is with that kind of thing? It only works once."

John raised one eyebrow in response.

"Yeah. You said it yourself. The captain knew they were too old to live for long outside the stasis chambers. So this was his last chance to contribute to the fight. You, on the other hand, still have much more work to do."

He scowled at me. "Are you asking if I'm subconsciously looking for a way out? Carson asked the same thing, and you know I don't believe in that psychobabble crap."

"Oh, I know that," I told him calmly. "Hell, you wouldn't even talk to the shrink after almost mutating into a giant bug." I couldn't understand that. Personally, I found reading Kafka traumatic, never mind experiencing it firsthand! "I'm just saying that you seem to singlehandedly want to save us all. It's appreciated, but it's okay to let other folks in on the action, too. And God forbid you actually withdraw from a fight now and then."

Without looking, John pitched his apple core over his shoulder towards a trash bin. Of course it went straight in. "He who turns and runs away, lives to fight another day?" he asked sarcastically.

"I'm sure you'll figure out a more politically correct way to say it, but essentially yes. The Wraith are going to be here for a long time to come. Selfishly, I wouldn't mind having you around to save my ass for most of that time."

He was silent, then changed the subject by smirking at me. "You save my ass as much as I save yours. And how come we always have these deep conversations, doc?"

I knew I wasn't going to get any further with this argument tonight, so I shrugged and pitched my rolled up napkin at the trash bin. It missed by a mile. (In my defense, I played college football, not basketball.) "I grew up with a rabbi and a yenta in the household. What else did you expect?"

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Let's roll. Notice the plural in that rallying cry. Because whether the hijackers are armed fanatics with box cutters or life-sucking Wraith, it takes more than one person to bring them down. Somewhere over the skies of Pennsylvania and somewhere in the heart of a different galaxy, two groups of brave people realized there was no going home. Their heroic actions benefited us, the ones they left behind. I hope I made John realize that the best way to honor that was to stay alive to continue the fight. Do I think that he's going to suddenly become the epitome of caution? Of course not, but hopefully he'll think for an extra minute or two before rushing in where angels fear to tread. And hopefully he'll be willing to share the risk, since that may just be enough to ensure success.

-

-

_A/N: Yenta means meddler, someone who tries to fix other people's problems._

_A/N: I started writing this when Aurora first aired in September, 2005. Obviously the anniversary of 9/11 was very much in my thoughts._


	8. Lost Boys and Hive

You see many things during a surgical residency at Johns Hopkins. The hospital's located in one of the worst parts of Baltimore, so the emergency room is always filled with trauma of every sort imaginable. People get shot in places you wouldn't think possible and consume almost every substance known to man. So when I was finished with my training, you can forgive me for thinking that I couldn't be surprised by anything anymore.

Of course, that changed when I moved my practice to the Pegasus galaxy. However, after many months here, I once again fell into the trap of thinking that nothing could surprise me. Life-sucking alien bug-people? No problem. A 10,000 year-old doppelganger from an alternate universe? I can handle it. A body with two consciousnesses, one of whom has the hots for my boss? Please, don't make me laugh.

My complacency came back to bite me in the ass when the last person I expected was dragged into the infirmary after a drug overdose: Rodney McKay.

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I think I was fortunate to have been spared the experience of watching Rodney when he came through the gate from Ford's planet. From Elizabeth's frantic report to Carson, I knew it must have been quite a sight. He's normally a frenetic person, bouncing from one idea to the next, but this was supposedly amplified ten-fold after exposure to the Wraith enzyme.

It makes me shudder just to think about it.

Rodney was unconscious when he first arrived, but unfortunately it didn't last. "NO! What are you doing?" he screamed when he realized where he was. "I have to go back!"

Carson ducked between the two nurses trying to get him onto a gurney. "Calm down, Rodney!" he ordered. "Let us take care of you, lad."

Rodney twisted and writhed, causing two marines to step up to aid the nurses. "I'm fine. Go help Sheppard and the others!"

Elizabeth was standing in the background, and now she spoke up. "We can better help them if you calm down enough to tell us where they are!"

Carson jumped back as Rodney tried to lunge at him. "Get out of here!" he snapped to Elizabeth. Then he turned to the marines. "Hold him down, damn it!" It took several more minutes, but between the soldiers and the nurses they subdued Rodney long enough to get restraint cuffs around all four extremities.

"Do you want me to get some haldol, Dr. Beckett?" one of the nurses, a wide-eyed young woman, asked. I think she was new to the city. Hell of an introduction.

"I don't want to sedate him until we know more about what we're dealing with." As Carson spoke, I stepped up to the gurney and started applying monitor leads. He nodded his thanks, then continued. "We'll need a complete set of blood chemistries and a tox screen. Include a Wraith enzyme level, too."

I flipped on the cardiac monitor. It immediately started to squeal as the EKG tracing shot across the screen. "Heart rate 168, looks like sinus tach," I said. Next to me Rodney continued to fight the restraints, snarling wordlessly now.

"Lovely. Can you get a blood pressure?"

It was hard, since our patient's movements kept screwing up the reading, but eventually I had my answer. "220 over 140!" I whistled. To put it in technical terms, Rodney was lucky if his brains didn't squeeze out through his ears.

"Oh, crap," Carson growled. "All right, people, here's what has to happen. We need to get this daft bugger calm and stabilized, then he needs a head scan to make sure he hasn't killed anything in there with that skyrocketing pressure." He shook his head and I heard him mutter under his breath, "Did he really take that stuff voluntarily!"

Carson called for a beta blocker to lower Rodney's heart rate and blood pressure, and the new nurse jumped to get a dose of IV lopressor. In the middle of this, Rodney began complaining of severe nausea, so I administered compazine in defense of my shoes. We continued in this fashion, but after he got out of the restraints twice and almost hit me in the head we realized that we needed to put Rodney down if we were going to be able to treat him effectively. A hefty dose of Valium worked quite nicely, and things went much more smoothly after that.

A familiar voice behind me made me tense in anticipation. Elizabeth had returned to the infirmary, and she had brought that prick Caldwell with her. I still hadn't forgiven him for the way he acted when John was infected with the retrovirus. He'd added to Elizabeth's anguish at a time when she needed his support. And he tried to throw his weight around while I was nominally in charge of the infirmary.

I didn't quite tell him what to go do with himself, but it was very close.

Despite his famous temper, Carson kept a firmer grip on his emotions than I did as he walked over to the two of them. In fact, the only thing I could hear in his voice was mild surprise. He explained what was going on in blunt, precise terms. Rodney, if he survived, was going to have a hell of a time going through withdrawal. The Wraith enzyme resembled no Earthly drug, so who knew how Rodney's body was going to react.

Then it was my turn to be surprised when Caldwell suggested going out to harvest more enzyme. I didn't think he would be compassionate like that. Too bad his idea couldn't work. Rodney's metabolism was running like a furnace. I don't even think we could get a team through the gate before he went into withdrawal. Rodney was going to have to get through this the old-fashioned way.

"Cold turkey," said Caldwell.

Yup.

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After several hours we were able to decrease the sedation, which was a good thing for Rodney. It wasn't so good for us, though, since he proceeded to rant incomprehensibly. Carson took the brunt of the abuse, although none of us was spared. I was a "knuckle-dragging Neanderthal" who butted into everyone else's business. I can think of several classmates (and one or two ex-girlfriends) who might have agreed with him.

Carson stayed at his bedside pretty much the entire time, leaving it only to personally check on test results or order different medications. I know he cares deeply about all his patients, and about Atlantis's primary team in particular, but this went even beyond what he usually does. I wondered why, until I overheard one particular conversation he had with Rodney.

True to form, it began with Rodney insulting the CMO's parentage and accusing him of proclivities toward barnyard animals, and then it went downhill from there. Carson barely batted an eyelash as the physicist accused him of taking pleasure in his pain, knowing that Rodney was in the full throes of withdrawal. A recent test had shown no trace of the enzyme left in his blood, and his body was obviously feeling the loss. He began pleading for the drug, offering everything up to his first-born child for another dose. Sadly, we had none, so his next request was for Carson to kill him.

Jeez, that's two. Who's going to ask us to take them out next, Ronon?

All right, I know that sounds flippant. But it's still really disturbing that two men were brought to a state where they sought death rather than healing from a physician. I've gotten that request from terminal cancer patients, but never from anyone who was otherwise relatively healthy.

"You have no idea of the agony I'm going through," Rodney sobbed.

I saw a dark look cross Carson's face, as if he were remembering something better left buried. This was followed by other, equally unreadable, emotions. Almost too softly for me to hear, he said, "Oh, I have an inkling."

At that point. Carson turned around and noticed me. "Steve, can you take over for a spell? I'll be back in a few." He walked out of the room without another word.

What the hell?

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By the time he came back, though, I had resolved not to say anything. Sure, I was curious. But I didn't see how the information would help me take care of Rodney, so this wasn't the time to ask. If Carson wanted, he could tell me later.

Eventually Rodney couldn't rant anymore and fell asleep ("finally, mercifully," as Carson said to Elizabeth). Our stalwart CMO continued to sit at his bedside, though, despite Elizabeth's gentle urging. So after checking up on the other patients in the infirmary, I did the same. We sat in silence for a long time. Finally, without looking up, Carson said, "I suppose you'd like to know what I meant back there."

"Only if you want to tell me."

He leaned back and put his feet up on the side of the bed. Good thing Rodney wasn't conscious or he'd start bitching about cleanliness or some other such thing. "It happened to me," Carson admitted.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

He laughed somewhat bitterly. "You never think it'll be you. Oh, you listen to the warnings, but deep down inside where it counts you think you'll be able to keep control."

"What happened, Carson?" I asked softly.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was beginning to look like John's. "I don't know what medical training is like in the States, but it was pretty damn brutal when I studied at Edinburgh. This happened during -- well, let's just say that it corresponds to the internship year in American hospitals. We weren't paid very well, so I shared a flat with a fellow I knew from university."

I remembered internship. We were paid crap, barely enough to afford the rent. But that was okay, since we never spent time at home, anyway. Supposedly there was one surgical training program that was actually proud that it had a divorce rate greater than 100 percent. The guys -- and they were mostly guys -- got divorced, then remarried, and then divorced again. "Yeah, the American training system is brutal, too."

"My mate was a brilliant man. Also caring and compassionate, everything you'd want in a physician. But that was part of the problem. When bad things happened, he took it too much to heart."

I think all of us know someone like that. There are people who are able to distance themselves emotionally, and people who aren't. Those who can't distance themselves need to find an outlet, or they'll crash and burn. It didn't sound like Carson's roommate had found an outlet. "What happened to him?" I asked quietly.

"He drove his car off a cliff."

I'd expected something like that, but I still winced.

"I came home one morning to find the police and his mother looking around the flat. Guess they were trying to see if he'd left any indication of what he was planning." Carson took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "I'll never forget the look on his mum's face. She didn't say anything, but I know she blamed me for not realizing how distressed he really was. I had nightmares about that look for weeks. Then one day, I decided to get rid of the nightmares."

I didn't say anything, but waited for him to continue. Finally, "At first, my own physician had no problem with prescribing a tranquilizer. Who wouldn't be agitated after something like that? But eventually she wouldn't prescribe any more, so I... found other means."

"How did you stop?"

Carson gave a harsh laugh. "Fortunately, one of my attending physicians was a better doctor than I was and realized what was happening to me. He pulled me out of my training position and gave me two choices. Voluntarily go into rehab and keep my license or refuse, ruin my career, and possibly face criminal charges for drug theft."

"Not much of a choice, obviously."

"No. And it wasn't cold turkey, but it was close. So I'd like to think I can empathize with Rodney." As if in response, the physicist stirred and mumbled something incomprehensible. Carson smiled sadly and settled back to keep vigil over his friend.

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I wonder how much of that blame came from his roommate's mother and how much came from Carson's own tortured mind. Let's face it; our CMO wears his heart on his sleeve. Of course he would think others blamed him for missing clues about the suicide; he blamed himself, after all.

Does he blame himself for Rodney's condition now? I can't see how he logically could do that. Besides, if there is blame to be assigned, it probably belongs to all of us. Ever since Doranda, Rodney's been desperately trying to prove himself and regain everyone's trust. This must have seemed like a golden opportunity for him.

Do I still think I've seen it all? Not really. The trouble we get into, like blowing up a good chunk of local space-time, certainly continues to be unique. But on the other hand, the conflicts and motivations of the characters in the drama are pretty universal. People will always be searching for some type of redemption. And, as demonstrated here, people will do amazing things to earn it.


	9. Critical Mass pt 1

I don't envy Elizabeth Weir her job at all. She's been in some pretty tough situations these past two years. Not that the rest of us haven't, but she's the person who's ultimately responsible for... well, everything. She didn't expect to walk through the gate into an all-out war for survival, but she very quickly adjusted. And if certain things had to be sacrificed along the way, she seems to have accepted it as the price of the wonders waiting to be unlocked here.

From the beginning, Dr. Weir has valiantly tried not to include her code of ethics among the things that she's given up. She hasn't always been successful. There were only little lapses at first, such as treating the Athosians as a minority group to be distrusted. These were considered necessary "for the good of the expedition." But at what point do little slips begin to add up to larger mistakes? At what point is a critical mass of ethically questionable actions reached?

And, most importantly, what will be the consequences when that critical mass is exceeded? Dr. Weir isn't the only one who will have to face that question.

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I was on the Daedalus, heading for a vacation on Earth, when rumors of a bomb on Atlantis began to spread through the ship. I put down the reports Carson had given me to show Dr. Lam (I was still laughing at his account of the time-dilation field and "space STDs") and went to see what was happening.

I went straight to the bridge. I didn't think Colonel Caldwell would throw me out; I was doing him a favor by staffing the sickbay while I was technically already on vacation. I don't like the man very much (he's always a little too quick to write people off), but they were a doc short on this trip. One of their regular crew had developed appendicitis just before the ship left Atlantis. (Lucky guy -- he would get to recuperate in a marvelous setting, and there were no intergalactic HMO's to push him out of the infirmary too soon.)

"Doctor Novak, what's your status?" Caldwell asked.

"Almost in range, sir."

Dr. Kavanaugh's voice came over the radio immediately after hers. "We're not gonna make it." Caldwell grimaced at that, and I couldn't blame him. There are very few people in Atlantis whom I don't respect. Kavanaugh's one of them.

"What's going on?" I whispered to one of the crewmen.

"The SGC relayed a message from one of the outermost planets in our galaxy. There's a bomb on Atlantis, and it's going to detonate when they dial the gate."

"And the weekly status report is going to be sent in about twenty minutes," I finished for him. I gathered from Caldwell's end of the conversation that they were trying some engineering wizardry, but apparently it was going to be close. Now that I was aware of it, I could feel the engines pulse faster than normal under my feet. Was it going to be fast enough?

Caldwell was obviously wondering the same thing. He looked around the bridge and saw me. "Ah, Dr. Schwartz. Would you please go to the engineering section and see what Dr. Novak and Hermiod are up to? Be advised that you may have to stop Hermiod from hurting Dr. Kavanaugh," he said dryly. I'm sure that he heard the not-quite-whispered "why?" from the man standing next to me, but he chose to ignore it.

I arrived in engineering to see Hermiod looking as annoyed as I've ever seen an Asgard look. (Admittedly, I've only met one other Asgard -- Supreme Commander Thor, right after Anubis's device had been removed from his brain.) In my mind, Hermiod is an Asgard version of Rodney McKay: smart as hell and knows it. So it's no surprise that his interactions with Kavanaugh are equally as friendly as Rodney's.

Novak seemed incredibly thankful to see me, as if she expected all hell to break loose any minute. She was probably one step away from uncontrollable hiccuping. Hermiod looked up from what he was doing and narrowed his eyes. I thought I heard him mutter something in his own language as he turned his stare toward Kavanaugh, who was hovering over him.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Kavanaugh was not long for this world if he didn't leave Hermiod alone. Who knew what the little gray guy would do? Demolecularize the man? It was time to take matters into my surgeon's hands.

I walked over to Hermiod's console and said politely. "I apologize for interrupting you, but I'm going to need to borrow your esteemed colleague for a while. Is that going to be a problem?"

He gave what I'm sure was the Asgard equivalent of a snort. "I think I will muddle through without him."

I grinned broadly at Hermiod and firmly grasped Kavanaugh's upper arm. He sputtered, and I quickly added, "I appreciate your assistance, doctor. I could use your help writing some triage algorithms for the infirmary's computer." Pure bullshit, of course, but I didn't have time to come up with anything better. "You know, just in case we're not in time to stop the bomb."

I heard Novak sigh with relief as I pulled Kavanaugh out the door. Fifteen minutes after that, I heard Hermiod announce to Colonel Caldwell that we were in range. Thirty minutes later, we received word that in another few seconds, we would have been too late.

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Although I was expecting increased security when we returned to Atlantis, I wasn't prepared for what actually happened. Shortly before we landed, all but essential bridge personnel were confined to their quarters. We were told we would have to remain there until escorted into the city for an "interview" with Dr. Weir. I had no illusions that it would be anything other than an interrogation. Well, I certainly could understand why.

I cooled my heels for almost a day before the expected knock at my door finally came. Two guards were standing outside, and I almost laughed when I saw who they were. I didn't recognize the first, but the second one was Sergeant Macdonald. He was a tall, red-headed kid with a nervous expression on his face. In fact, he almost always looked nervous when I was around. I wonder if it had something to do with his puking on me after receiving a gene therapy shot. Nonetheless, if I was supposed to be intimidated, then the attempt failed miserably.

The two men flanked me as we walked off the Daedalus and into the city. They left me in a bare conference room, but I wasn't alone for more than a few minutes before Elizabeth Weir walked in. She sat down across from me and smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry about your vacation, Dr. Schwartz. I know you were looking forward to it, and heaven knows you deserve one!"

"I think that's the least of our problems!" I grinned wickedly at her. "Besides, I'll just torment Carson to make myself feel better."

"Right," she said. "I'll know who to blame, then, when he's in a foul mood!" She got serious. "You've heard by now about our close call here."

I nodded.

"Then you know I'm interviewing everybody who left on the Daedalus. This is in no way meant to single you out as a suspect."

"Dr. Weir," I said gently. "I completely understand. Please, ask me whatever you like."

She sighed. "I can't go into much detail, but what I can tell you is that the sabotage had to involve someone with a considerable amount of computer expertise. Do you have any experience with computer programming?"

I thought back to my interactions with Kavanaugh on board the Daedalus. "A fair amount," I admitted. "I'm not an expert, though."

"Do you know anyone who might be an expert? One who could, say, tinker with an operating system like Windows?"

I whistled. "Definitely not me! I don't think anyone in medical could, for that matter. Rodney McKay and Radek Zelenka could do it. So could Dr. Kavanaugh, for that matter." I told her about the scene in engineering.

Dr. Weir's face darkened. "Thank you. You've been quite helpful."

Only when it was all over did I learn what almost happened to Kavanaugh. I felt sick to my stomach. Sure, I wasn't the only one who'd fingered him, but he'd almost been tortured because of it. In certain societies, people were routinely forced to inform on their own family, so this was probably tame in comparison, but it was a lesson about the consequences of seemingly innocent words.

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After Elizabeth left, I was cleared to return to the infirmary. When I got there, the first thing I saw was Teyla hovering by the bedside of an elderly woman who looked near death. "...if the time comes, as much as it pains both of us, we must not interfere," Teyla was saying.

Carson, standing behind her, looked upset, but he didn't argue. I started to walk over to them. Teyla continued to hold the old woman's hand, but Carson gestured me over to his office. "What's going on?" I whispered. He told me what Elizabeth hadn't been able to, about the ZPM rigged to overload and a saboteur that was trying to activate enough systems to cause that to happen.

"We're going to evacuate the city soon," he said. "Most people will leave on the Daedalus, but a few of us will remain behind as long as we can, to try to re-enable the failsafes. I want you to..."

"No."

"What do you mean, no? You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

"I have a pretty good idea," I said dryly. "Let's just skip to the part where you finally agree that it would be a bad idea for me to leave on the Daedalus."

"Steve..." Carson said warningly. "We don't have time for this."

"You're right," I agreed. "Someone's going to need to gather the most important research records to take with us. Someone also has to watch over Teyla's friend. And who knows what Rodney will do to himself while trying to fix the ZPM. We have plenty to do, so what are you waiting for?"

Carson snorted. "You're daft, son," But he squeezed my shoulder before turning back to Teyla and the old woman.

I hadn't been kidding. Someone really did need to save the research records, so I began downloading the results of some of the studies we had done on the ATA gene. I also, against my better judgement, started to compile some of the retrovirus data. Halfway through my labors, I sensed a flurry of activity coming from the direction Carson had gone. I turned to see him snap off the cardiac monitor that had been recording the old woman's vital signs. His face held anger and sorrow as he walked away. After a minute, Teyla bowed her head and began to weep silently.

Things began to happen very quickly after that. A few of the Athosians removed the woman's body, and a little later Dr. Kavanaugh's unconscious form was deposited on a bed by Ronon. Something about fainting and an attempt to obtain an access code. I couldn't help noticing that some of the remaining scientists were giving the ex-Runner hateful looks and an especially wide berth.

Finding that Teyla had left the infirmary, Carson went to look for her. I later found out that he had reluctantly attended an Athosian burial ritual despite the possibility of the city's imminent destruction. (He also attended one final ceremony on the mainland. Teyla never mentioned either of these again, but she seemed grateful for the moral support even weeks later.)

So it was that I was the only doctor left in the infirmary when a flash of light delivered Colonel Caldwell, Colonel Sheppard, and two well-muscled guards to the isolation room. Caldwell was semi-conscious and looked like he'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. "Give him something to keep him under, doc," ordered Sheppard.

"What? I can't just..."

"Don't argue! He's a goa'uld!"

"Holy crap!" I couldn't think of too much else to say at that point, so I repeated it. "Holy crap!" Within minutes, I'd put him into a deep slumber and fastened restraints to his wrists and ankles. "Anyone want to tell me what happened?" I asked the room at large.

Sheppard quickly filled me in. On everything. From Kavanaugh's near-torture to Caldwell's surprise revelation. To be honest, I'm not sure which one horrified me more. Yeah, Caldwell had almost gotten us all killed, but he hadn't been the one in control. He'd fought with his symbiote to reveal the access code, so he couldn't have been a willing host.

Now Kavanaugh, on the other hand... in the end, he was guilty of nothing more than being a complete idiot. Yet Ronon had been mere seconds away from beating him within an inch of his life. Weir and Sheppard had coldly decided that the risk of his innocence was low enough to justify a "coercive interrogation." And they'd been horribly wrong. Only dumb (literally) luck had saved the situation from deteriorating any further.

All I said was, "Oh. You have been busy, haven't you?" Sheppard gave me a funny look but didn't push the issue. The worst part was: I wish I could be totally confident that I wouldn't have done the same thing. Yeah. Mr. "We Can't Experiment on Wraith" might actually consider torture under some extreme circumstances. Hey, if it works for Alan Dershowitz...

I'm glad my father will never know of this.

TBC

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A/N: Alan Dershowitz is a lawyer who wanted interrogators to be able to get "torture warrants" under certain circumstances. Charming guy.


	10. Critical Mass pt 2

A few days later, I was surprised to receive a summons to the infirmary to meet with Hermiod. What could the Asgard possibly want with me? I didn't know anything about engineering, and he presumably didn't know much about surgery. Then I overheard voices in the hall outside the infirmary.

"Oh, Carson. Hermiod's just beginning initial calculations on the extraction." Rodney sounded rather smug about it. Go figure.

"The calculations are impossibly intricate," the physicist was now saying. "You don't want to go beaming out a chunk of his brain!" Oh. Now I was beginning to understand what Hermiod wanted, but didn't know why he wanted me. Brain surgery isn't my specialty.

"Lovely, Rodney!" I didn't have to see Carson to know that he was either glaring or trying not to laugh. But before he could say anything else...

"Ah, there you are," said a quiet voice at my feet. Hermiod was carrying a device that looked like a cross between a portable television and a toaster. He didn't beat around the bush. "This is for containment. We have to remove the symbiote intact, otherwise the Colonel's body will react negatively."

It would kill him, I translated silently.

"Of course, if we overestimate the amount of biological material that needs to be removed, we will inadvertently extract cerebral matter."

In other words, we'd beam out a chunk of his brain. This was sounding more fun than repeating internship! I looked down at the little guy. "You want someone to help you decide exactly what to 'beam out.'"

"And help keep the patient alive, yes. Crudely put, but effective."

"Why me?" I could be blunt, too. "I'm not an expert on the human brain."

He was unimpressed with the excuse. "You are a surgeon, are you not? And you are one of several humans who does not have suboptimal intelligence."

"Um, thanks... I think." Definitely an Asgard version of McKay!

"What precautions to we need to take to ensure that Colonel Caldwell survives the procedure?" Hermiod asked.

Well, we'd need to make sure that Caldwell remained absolutely still. Any movement, no matter how small, could result in the beam removing brain tissue instead of the symbiote. This would require both deep anesthesia and chemical paralysis. I also wasn't thrilled about the effect the taser bursts might have had on his heart. I explained what I was thinking, and added, "I'd also like to consult with Dr. Beckett on this."

"Consult with me on what, lad?" The gathering in the hall had broken up, and Carson had come back into the infirmary without Rodney or Laura. For some reason, though, the CMO was looking very amused. I'd have to ask him later.

"How to keep Caldwell alive while the symbiote is removed." He nodded as I filled him in on what Hermiod and I had been discussing.

"That sounds spot-on to me. We can get some non-invasive tests of cardiac function, such as an echocardiogram, but otherwise I think we just need to get rid of the damn bugger as fast as we can."

Now that sounded spot-on to me.

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The whole thing took about twelve hours, from the time Hermiod began programming the transporter to the time Colonel Caldwell awoke from the anesthesia. He wasn't conscious for long before falling into a more natural sleep, but it was enough. A repeat MRI showed that he was now parasite-free.

There was much discussion about what to do with the isolated symbiote, which Ronon cut short by vaporizing it with his oversized gun. Everyone was upset after that: the biologists had wanted to study it, Dr. Weir had wanted to bargain for intelligence, and the Daedalus crew had wanted to kill it themselves. It was amid all this sulking that Caldwell again awoke. He looked confused at first, then grimaced as he remembered what had happened.

I was busying myself with checking monitors and drips when I heard his voice croak my name. "Yes, Colonel?" I asked. "Do you need anything?"

"No. How did you get that thing out of my head?"

I eyed him, wondering how much to say. Then I shrugged. "It was Hermiod. He figured out how to use the Daedalus' transporters to 'beam' the symbiote out. Then Ronon played Dirty Harry with it."

The corners of Caldwell's mouth twitched a little. But he brought himself back to the subject at hand and said, "It couldn't have only been Hermiod. Someone must have helped him with knowledge of human anatomy. You?"

"Mostly," I replied. Then it was my turn to suppress a laugh. "Dr. Beckett was there, too, of course. And Dr. McKay... put in his two cents at times." That he did. Mostly to say that medicine was less than useless as a science and Carson and I were less than useless as scientists. After one particularly unfortunate comment about sheep dip, sheepskins, and John Sheppard, Carson convinced Rodney that his talents would be better used elsewhere... by threatening to plant his foot firmly upon the physicist's posterior.

Caldwell could obviously imagine the scene quite well. He snorted faintly and shook his head, then gasped as the movement caused a wave of pain. I winced. "A little too late, Colonel, but you might not want to move very much."

"I'll take that under advisement," he rasped. He looked like he was about to fall asleep again. "Anyway... thanks. Thanks for not writing me off." Startled, I looked at him closely. "Yeah, I know what you think of me. I remember our conversation during Sheppard's retrovirus infection."

Well, so much for my poker face. "Now you know how I felt," I said softly. Caldwell nodded but didn't say anything else. After a minute, I saw that he was indeed sleeping again. I headed toward my office, hoping that his change of attitude would last but not holding my breath.

I never reached the office. Instead, I turned a corner and was nearly bowled over by an angry Kate Heightmeyer. I put a hand on the wall to steady myself and managed to avoid falling on my ass, but poor Kate wasn't so lucky. She made an exasperated noise as I helped her back to her feet. "That man is infuriating!" she snapped. "How did he even manage to be included on the expedition team?"

Well, gee. I wonder who she was talking about. "Kavanaugh?" Only he could get the base psychologist that riled up. And wasn't she supposed to be able to stay calm with annoying people?

"Who else? He wouldn't talk to me at all except to say that his lawyer will be getting in touch with all of us."

"Charming," I said. "Good luck finding a lawyer with a high enough security clearance to take the case!" I really couldn't blame him, though. If I were Kavanaugh, and my boss had given a walking mountain permission to torture me, I'd be pissed, too.

"If he could only see that an attitude like this is what got him into trouble in the first place!"

Hmm. Kate was being unusually dense today. Probably because of the whole "ten minutes away from doom" thing. Or maybe because she's got a relative testosterone deficiency. Make all the jokes about the male ego that you want, but Kavanaugh had been totally humiliated. Of course he was going to respond like this.

Kate left, and I took a detour through the part of the infirmary where Kavanaugh was staying. His bed was partially curtained off, but he was still visible. His posture was slumped and he was resting his head in his hands. Now that nobody was watching him, he'd lost his bravado and just looked haunted.

It was a very pathetic sight.

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After all the crap that had already happened, I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised at what I found waiting for me on my desk. It was a memo from the Pentagon. Seems like they'd read the reports filed by the senior staff, and were quite disturbed by the incident with Kavanaugh.

But not for the reasons you might imagine.

It turns out that they had data suggesting that physical force wasn't that effective in obtaining useful information. (I don't know where they got the data, and I really don't want to find out.) If we were ever in this situation again, they wanted us to try interrogation drugs. After all, how bad could it be if a doctor was monitoring the situation? It was horrifying on one hand, but after witnessing the defeated look on Kavanaugh's face I couldn't help but wonder if it was a better option.

Anyway, we can now add "questionable interrogation techniques" to the list of ethically questionable things we've done since arriving in Pegasus. Have we reached critical mass yet? I have a sinking feeling that there's worse to come. And the explosion, when it finally happens, won't leave any of us unscathed.


End file.
